


In My Blood

by Juvinadelgreko



Series: Olicity Songfics [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Anxiety, Disordered Eating, F/M, Gen, Inspired by a Shawn Mendes Song, Lonely Oliver, Mentions of nightmares and panic attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07, Songfic, mentions of non consensual drug use, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juvinadelgreko/pseuds/Juvinadelgreko
Summary: A Olicity Songfic based off “In My Blood” by Shawn Mendes





	In My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song “In My Blood” by Shawn Mendes. It’s a beautiful song and it does remind me very much of Oliver. I’ve done my best to approach all the sensitive topics in both the song and this fic with sensitivity and care; I’ve had my own experiences with some of them. No Beta, all mistakes are 1000% mine. Drop a comment if you wish! Enjoy!

Based off of [this](https://juvinadelgreko.tumblr.com/post/176859772317/olicityfamily-there-should-be-a-million-edits) Tumblr post 

 

‘In My Blood’, an Olicity Songfic

 

**Help me, it's like the walls are caving in**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**But I just can't**

**It isn't in my blood**

 

With the first bolt of lightning that fateful night on the North China Sea, the walls of Oliver’s world as he knew it caved in. It was as if whatever vehicle had driven his life had suddenly decided to whip its wheels to the side and drive straight off the metaphorical highway. When his father shot that crew member and then himself, Oliver didn’t deny that he had wished to join them on many occasions from that moment forward. But stronger than any urge or feeling of despair or guilt or unbearable pain were the dying words of his father—“Survive.” And for all the blood he shed and bled on that island, in Hong Kong, in Russia, no one could drain those words from him. They could stab him, shoot him, whip him, burn him, beat him, but they couldn’t get him to surrender. It wasn’t in his blood.

 

**Laying on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing**

**I'm overwhelmed and insecure, give me something**

**I could take to ease my mind slowly**

 

Coming home had been, in so many ways, both a blessing and a curse. When people asked him what he’d missed, he told them what they’d expect.

 

“The food.” Yes, he’d missed the food. He’d missed not having to wonder where his next meal was coming from. He didn’t tell them that what he now missed the most was being able to actually eat his food. Going straight from lean, unseasoned meat and plants to rich multi-course meals all the time wreaked havoc on his stomach. Long were the nights on the bathroom floor heaving up dinner.

 

“The people.” He’d missed Thea, his mother, Tommy, dearly. He’d missed their companionship, their love. He didn’t tell them that, mostly, he missed having people he could trust. People he knew wouldn’t attack him in his sleep, try to steal his food or clothing, spike his drink, or a myriad of nasty tricks he’d had played on him in his time away.

 

“Home. Starling. The city.” When Tommy had offered to take him around the city that first day home, it had been a quiet, rainy day; the denizens of Starling cozied up in their fancy apartments or huddled on street corners. It had turned his stomach, it still did, to notice the overwhelming quantity of the latter. There hadn’t been much to see that day. And then he’d gone out with his family, to dinners, galas, this fundraiser, that fundraiser, this crowded thing, that crowded thing. And being a returned billionaire castaway tended to draw attention. There were people everywhere. All the time. Shaking hands, bumping shoulders. Having too many people in a room made it hard to case for potential threats or exits. How would he keep his family safe, himself safe, if something came after them? And how did he respond when strangers prodded at his memories of the island, eyes wide in the same manner they would be if gazing upon some exotic zoo animal. What did he say when someone ventured to ask about the scars that peeked out of his shirt collar and cuffs? These were the questions that he answered with an excuse me for a minute, or that’s my mother over there, I think she’s waving for me. The ones that caused his chest to constrict and his heart to pound and his hands to shake.

 

**Just have a drink and you'll feel better**

**Just take her home and you'll feel better**

**Keep telling me that it gets better**

**Does it ever?**

 

Tommy had, multiple times, made the point that Oliver did run a nightclub, he could have a drink here and there. It’ll take the edge off, he’d said. Because it didn’t take a wiseman to see that Oliver was tense. Tense was an understatement. And yeah, he’d have a drink or two here or there; but after five years of almost no alcohol, his tolerance was not what it used to be. And being drunk meant being vulnerable. Vulnerability meant danger, and not just to him. To his city that he protected at night with just his arrows, his hood, and his courage. Drinking to cope wasn’t an option, not for a second.

 

The people in his life had lived five years without him, had built lives that he didn’t have a place in, and reincorporating him had taken time. Add the Arrow and the gradual yet slow readjustment to civilian life to that, and it made for pretty lonely days. He didn’t sleep around like he used to, but the idea of someone that would be able to stand at his side on the bad days, sit up with him on the bad nights, hold his hand, listen to him, just be there for him, was tempting. He had no desire to burden his family with his struggles; and besides, his mother and stepfather spent most of their time on Planet QC, and the thought of exposing his demons to Thea, Tommy, or Laurel made him sick, especially after how they’d dealt with the fallout of the Gambit in their own lives. He’d seen it in Helena, someone who understood his suffering, someone who could help shoulder his burden. And for their brief entanglement, he had felt better. He’d dreamed that they could help each other, and it had been a pleasant distraction from his day to day nightmares.

 

John was living proof that things could get better, and he’d wanted that for himself and Helena. But when it became clear that she was beyond saving, he questioned the possibility of his own salvation even further; the spark of hope in him flickering, almost dying.

 

And in hindsight, it probably would have, without Felicity. With her, his hope gradually returned. She wasn’t a cure all, but she’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to one.

 

**Help me, it's like the walls are caving in**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**No medicine is strong enough**

**Someone help me**

 

Even with Felicity, there were still times when he was, inevitably, alone. When the walls of Starling had caved in and he’d run to Lian Yu, alone with his guilt and grief for five months until she and John had rescued him. When their relationship caved in; and he’d spent a year without her to hold his heart in her gentle hands, when he couldn’t turn to her the way he used to. It didn’t matter how often she reminded him that she was still his friend, still cared about him; he simply couldn’t bring himself to get that close to her. It would break his heart. When Lian Yu exploded and crumbled, and walls in his son’s life had caved in. There was no medicine for fixing an already broken relationship with the child you just took in because a psychopath had murdered his mother. Parenting is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He briefly contemplates giving up, contemplates asking the courts about sending William to his grandparents because he can’t do this, but then his son had asked for a math tutor. William was, literally, in his blood. He couldn’t give up. But he could ask for help.

 

**I'm crawling in my skin**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**But I just can't**

**It isn't in my blood**

**It isn't in my blood**

 

The day of the vertigo quickly made it into the list of the Top 10 Worst Days of Oliver Queen’s Life. He’d felt sick with himself after yelling at Felicity and William. He’d spent that whole day and night as a passenger in his own body, unable to figure out what the Hell was wrong. The aftermath hadn’t been any better; the last recesses of the drug had wreaked havoc on his dreams, bringing the screaming, breath stealing, violent nightmares that he’d managed to decrease a great deal in the last few years. When he’d clung to his wife that night, all he’d wanted was the escape his own skin for the safety of hers. But she did what she’d done in the precinct, what she’d always done—brought him home. Giving up wasn’t in his blood, not as long as his beating heart belonged to Felicity.

 

**Looking through my phone again feeling anxious**

**Afraid to be alone again, I hate this**

**I'm trying to find a way to chill, can't breathe, oh**

**Is there somebody who could...**

 

One thing the island had taught Oliver how to do was make the best out of nothing. No matter how he and his team had tried to handle Diaz, nothing worked. One of the marks the island had left on him that he had yet to completely work past was the way he panicked when cornered. And no one thinks rationally when panicked. A combination of these things had led to his doomed deal with Watson. He’d wanted to tell Felicity about, tell his team, but something in him prevented him. Maybe it was the fear, the panic, maybe the doubt of oh my God, what if this all goes South and Diaz gets away and I still go to prison? His regret keeps him up at night in his tiny, cold cell at Slabside. He hasn’t relaxed since the moment he stepped out of Watson’s office. He finds that the words “Relaxing” and “prison” hardly ever belong in the same sentence together. His days are marked with chalk on the wall and one eye over his shoulder and tense muscles at all times. For the first time in years, he’s completely alone with his demons, with the nightmares, the panic attacks. Prison is to his PTSD what salt is to a fresh wound. Oliver’s strong, but he’s stronger with Felicity, and facing it without her is a million times harder than facing it with her ever was.

 

**Help me, it's like the walls are caving in**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**No medicine is strong enough**

**Someone help me**

**I'm crawling in my skin**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**But I just can't**

**It isn't in my blood**

**It isn't in my blood**

**I need somebody now**

**I need somebody now**

**Someone to help me out**

**I need somebody now**

**Help me, it's like the walls are caving in**

**Sometimes I feel like giving up**

**But I just can't**

**It isn't in my blood**

**It isn't in my blood**

**It isn't in my blood**

**I need somebody now**

**It isn't in my blood**

**I need somebody now**

**It isn't in my blood**

 

Then he goes home, and his life becomes filled with an eerie sort of deja vu. Readjusting after prison is almost the same as adjusting after Lian Yu. Except it’s worse this time, because it feels like an old joke, a regression of cosmic proportions. And for awhile, things are hard. He has to reintegrate with his family, with civilian lifestyle. He has to begin the slow process of healing his mind and body after devastating, life altering trauma yet again. But Oliver knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, the depths of his soul, that his family is in his heart, his blood, and that they can overcome anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I enjoyed writing it; it was the most challenging piece I’ve written in a while. I have a new appreciation for the song now. If there’s a song you want to see in this series, message me on my Tumblr, @JuvinaDelGreko.


End file.
